


Guardians

by snaitf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Glorious Gilmore being Glorious, also angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:17:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaitf/pseuds/snaitf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dragon's retribution had been aimed at the guardians of Emon. But who exactly are the city's guardians? Is it the adventurers who defend it? The city guard? The council that leads it? </p><p>Perhaps all it takes to be a guardian is to make a stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrath and Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME to my first ao3 story!! I'm very excited.

Shaun Gilmore knew he had made a bad decision just seconds into the duel, when the massive, glorious, terrifying dragon shot a veritable _wall_ of fire from its mouth. Gilmore twisted away, just barely dodging the brunt of the wave. Terrible heat knocked him back, singeing his robes.

Vox Machina was not here. He had searched through the rubble, the horrible sea of bodies, and they were not here. The dragon had discovered him and attacked, and there was no quick blur of gorgeous half-elf appearing out of the shadows, daggers at the ready. Which was a relief, honestly, but it did leave him in something of a predicament.

He fought the thing off long enough to know that he was really no better than an ant against its awful might. A massive clawed hand swiped at him. It knocked him several feet through the air, the claws tearing through him. _Damn_. Adrenaline and fear kept the pain at bay, but he could tell that he was in bad shape. The dragon straightened to its full height, leaning over him with a wicked grin. It was _toying_ with him. With a pained gasp, Gilmore rolled to his hands and knees, wheezing. Desperately called on his arcane training as the dragon lifted a massive paw, intent on smashing him into the ground.

An arcane door pulled him away just in time. He cast the spell eastward as far as he could reach, straining the limits of his power. He touched the material plane again briefly, the familiar crushing weight of abruptly landing _inside_ of something solid before the spell pulled him sideways. He landed at the edge of what was once a fine parlor, now smashed beyond recognition. He coughed raggedly, shaking with pain, willing himself upright, _quickly quickly, you fool!_ He had just enough room, and hopefully enough time, to draw out a teleportation circle. He could escape this ill-conceived fight in the ruined Cloudtop, he just had to reach for –

His connection to the teleportation rune in the back of his shop snapped and vanished.

He froze in the process of drawing the circle, breathless with shock. He waited a tense moment, holding the magic half-conjured, but the second circle, his back-up, remained intact. Pushing away his fears for Sherri, for his shop, for the children he had _just sent there_ , Gilmore completed the spell and leapt into the portal, veins singing with dread.

He was welcomed by a startled yelp from his assistant, who was remarkably not dead. “Oh, it’s you,” she said with dry relief. She was standing at the base of the ladder that led to the shop. Or it would, if the shop was even still standing.

“Thank _heavens_ you’re back!” Sherri continued, patting the young boy reassuringly on the shoulder as she turned to him. “I’ve just shut us in. They’re tearing down shops all along the Promenade. I figured it would be safer for the children down here.”

“Sherri,” Salda said quietly as she peered at Gilmore uncertainly. Sherri didn’t take notice. Gilmore stepped closer to the huddled party, his breathing shallow.

“I think they hit the shop. There was an awful ruckus just now, I think we’re buried down here. But of course, if things get really dire, you can just bamf us to the surface.”

“ _Sherri!”_ the empress gasped in warning as Gilmore’s knees finally betrayed him. Sherri must have finally taken in the blood and singe marks for the first time, for her face turned pale and the two women rushed toward him. Sherri guided him gently to rest against the stone wall of the underground safehouse, murmuring quiet assurances even as shaking hands reached for the wound in his chest.

“How could you be so foolish?” Sherri snapped at him, eyes wide with alarm and sorrow. “Oh, _Gilmore_ …”

“Mister Gilmore?” the uncertain, quavering voice of a child broke through the panic. Gilmore looked over to the young boy with Uriel’s solemn eyes.

“Gren, dear, not now – “

“Mister Gilmore, did you fight a _dragon_?” Gren asked.

“Ah,” Gilmore pulled together a somewhat pained smile for the boy. “Well, yes I suppose I did. Though I wasn’t entirely successful,” he added ruefully. Above them, the ceiling shuddered violently. Dust rained down on them. The children jumped in alarm. Muffled, distant screams filtered in faintly from the trapdoor as more thunderous hammering sounded up and down the street above them. And then, a very familiar voice.

“ **Hear me, insects!”**

“Odessa, Illya, p-please come away from that door,” Salda said shakily.

“It’s all right,” Gilmore interjected. The girls fairly flew to their mother, heedless of his calming words. Gren moved closer to Gilmore, struck silent in his fear as the dragon snarled its threat to the city.

“ **Know that it was your pitiful guardians who brought this upon you!”** _Shit,_ was it _looking for him?_ Had it tracked his teleportation spell? When he had escaped, what had it done in its wrath to the people gathered in the courtyard?

“Listen, all of you,” Gilmore said when the dragon at last fell silent, heart burning with anger. How _dare_ this thing come into _their city_. “If you think some snot-nosed, dirty dragons are going to get the better of _us_ , you’re as daft as they are,” he said, trying to inject his tone with as much confidence as he could muster while bleeding out in a frigid basement. “There are – “ he was interrupted quite rudely when Sherri unceremoniously shoved a healing potion into his mouth.

“Inspiring speeches can wait till you no longer resemble swiss cheese, you daft man,” she said, tipping the healing liquid into his throat. Despite the tense air, Gren snickered. When Sherri pulled the empty vial away from him, Gilmore stuck his tongue out at the boy, whose small smile widened.

“He’s right, though,” Gren said even as he glanced anxiously at the trap door. “Vox Machina will save us, just like last time.”

Gilmore shut his eyes against the sudden pain. Oh, how he _hoped_ they had made it out. He didn’t find them, surely that meant they were safe. “Yes, exactly, Gren,” he said, keeping his voice even. “We have Vox Machina, and a great many other heroes in this city.”

“Miss Alura’s tower fell,” Odessa said gloomily. “And he j-just said they were the reason he attacked.

“Alura wasn’t in her tower, dear,” Salda assured her quietly. “She was up north doing a favor for Lord Percival.”

“He said to call him Percy, mother,” Gren said.

The Taldorei children and their mother continued their quiet talk, their voices now much calmer than they had been. The dragon’s chilling ‘mercy’ loomed over them all, but apparently, his _inspiring speeches_ were good for something. He shuddered, the cold and pain leeching at his strength. The burn along his forearm didn’t look so bad anymore, and the bleeding had certainly slowed, but it hadn’t stopped completely. Sherri scowled at the wound, as though she could command it to heal faster through the sheer force of her disapproval.

“Bloody Dannik sisters,” she grumbled, holding a rag against his torso. “I bet you anything this was one of their potions. Never prepare the healing ones properly. Don’t know _how_ many times I’ve told them they’re not as potent – “

“Sherri.”

“- doesn’t distill properly if you don’t _add the mountain flower first_ –“

“Sherri,” he interrupted, grasping her hand in his. “It’s all right.”

“I’m having a word with them. If they’re even still _alive_ after this.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her again. The pain was _unbearable_ , and blackness was beginning to creep across his vision, but there was no need for _Sherri_ to know that. He would be fine. And if he wasn’t, Sherri and the empress and the children were safe, and that would have to be enough.

Sherri let out a long, unhappy sigh, moving him gently until he was laying on the floor. His eyes drifted closed as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re such a terrible liar, Gilmore,” she whispered tearfully as Gilmore drifted away, to sleep or unconsciousness he couldn’t be certain.

* * *

 

 

When next he awoke, Gren was sitting next to him. He could feel soft fabric beneath him and something tight around his torso.

“Oh! Mister Gilmore, you’re awake!” the boy whispered happily. The candles had been doused and the others seemed to have drifted off to an uneasy sleep. He shifted slightly, aiming to sit up but immediately regretting it as pain washed through him. He stifled a scream, managed to only let out a tiny whimper of pain. The boy patted his forehead, in much the way a nursemaid would comfort a young child during a fever or nightmare. “Sorry, Mister Gilmore, but Miss Sherri says she couldn’t find any more healing potions. What’s a blisterwort, sir?”

“You…” he cleared his throat. _Goodness,_ but he was thirsty. “You are an exceeding polite young man.”

“Thank you, sir, but what’s a blisterwort?”

“It… it’s a mushroom, it’s used in a number of potions.”

“Miss Sherri says you have to boil them at exactly – “

Gilmore groaned, half from pain and half in exasperation. “Please tell me she did something other than critique my vendor’s potion-making expertise while I was asleep.”

“She called you a fool twice.”

“Good to know,” he said drily.

“And she tried to open the door.”

Gilmore’s eyes snapped open. “ _What?!_ ” Gilmore forced himself upright, wincing in pain.

“She wanted to look for more – Mister Gilmore, sir, please, she said you shouldn’t get up.”

Gilmore was half-standing when a pained gasp turned into a cough, which turned into a fit that robbed his breath.

“ _Shaun Gilmore, you sit down this instant!”_ Sherri hissed, her mom voice so impressive that Gren jolted guiltily and sank meekly to the floor.

(When Gilmore followed suit, it was certainly _not_ because he was in any way affected by the mom voice, thank you very much.)

He glared recalcitrantly up at Sherri, who stalked over and immediately checked the makeshift bandage at his side. “It’s bleeding again,” she sighed irritably. “Probably opened up from all that coughing.”

“You tried to go upstairs? What were you thinking?” he hissed.

“Oh do calm down. I couldn’t get it open; there must be rubble in the way.”

“Even if the dragons are gone, there are going to be _looters_ and thieves picking through this place before too long – “

“Damn it, Gilmore, you need healing!” Sherri interjected. There was a tense silence between them. Gilmore gestured subtly to Gren, who was quietly watching them. Sherri sighed, her shoulders drooping. “All right,” she said, her voice calmer. “As I said, we’re stuck in here for now.”

She sat, helping Gilmore back down into the now blood-soaked pile of spare garments. Gilmore sighed mournfully when he spied a familiar gold-trimmed purple fabric. “I really liked those robes.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you tried to duel a dragon.” She turned to Gren. “Thank you, dear. I’ll watch over him now, you get some sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am. Good night, Mr. Gilmore.”

“Good night, Gren,” he said with a wide smile. The smile faded as Gren wandered away to join his sisters.

“I know you’re in pain,” Sherri said in an undertone. “Hide it from them if it makes you feel better, but don’t try and hide it from _me_ , of all people.”

Gilmore closed his eyes, focused for a long moment on breathing. His breath rattled ominously in his chest. “The door wouldn’t open?” he asked wearily.

“No. We have food down here for two, maybe three days. It’s the water I’m worried about.” They both knew he had a spell to conjure water but was in no shape to use it. Neither mentioned it. “And you’re developing a fever. That cough is starting to worry me. Empress Salda is in shock, I recognize the signs. The children are scared, and Gren’s started asking about his father. And then, of course, there are the dragons. And the looters.”

“One problem at a time, dear,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m sorry.”

Sherri’s fingers returned to stroking his hair. “Sleep, Gilmore,” she said quietly.

* * *

 

 

He woke again briefly to the tight, worried face of Empress Salda. She was holding something blessedly cool against his fevered brow. She shushed him when he tried to speak.

“I want to thank you, for saving my children,” She said earnestly. “It was a very brave thing.”

His hand fumbled in the darkness, found her hand and squeezed it. He drifted away again, burning and shivering at the same time, the pain in his chest muted and numb, the rattle in his breath more noticeable now. As he slid further down into darkness, it seemed for a moment he could hear Keyleth’s voice whispering his name.

His last thought was of Vax, just a faint wisp of a prayer. _Keep him safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes:  
> 1 on the verb to bamf: Vox Machina says it fairly consistently in-character. I am therefore going to take the artistic license to say that it is common slang in Taldorei for magical teleportation.  
> 2 I am elder scrolls trash and couldn’t think of plant names on my own so blam. An actual health potion from Skyrim. Instructions on their preparation are mine. :p My headcanon for the healing potion roll is a result of minor variations in the potion’s preparation.


	2. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Parts of this were written on the way home from Brother Chef’s apartment. Like, I literally had so many feelings after we watched this episode for the first time that I had to pull over on the side of the road and write like right now.

Darkness. Cold.

A slow, fading slide.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, but then something brushed against his fading consciousness. Eventually, he realized the whisper of sensation was a voice.

“It’s gonna be all right… Pike’s here, it’s gonna be all right. It’s gonna be _all right_ ……

…Gil?”

Vax…?

He drifted again, down _down…_

Then, a shot of warmth, like lightning crackling through his awareness. Something bright seared through him, healing hurts and forcing his mind into something resembling alertness. His body jumped to follow, but he was so _tired._ Exhaustion sapped his strength, licking at the rush of magic trying to force him awake. The two battled for an unknown lifetime before the familiar whispers of the physical realm began again to flood his senses.

Flickers of light and movement above him. He blinked groggily, trying to focus. Slowly, the shapes and colors formed themselves into the image of Vax’ildan, white-faced and wild-eyed, staring down at him. Unbidden, a tiny grin quirked at the corner of Gilmore’s mouth. He felt the layer of dried blood on his lips crack. “Well,” he rasped. “It’s what I always assumed I’d see, in my last moments.”

The wounded huff of breath from the thief could barely be considered a laugh, but something in Vax’s expression loosened regardless. “Bad day, huh?”

Gilmore sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. Remnants of the healing spell still surged through his body, the all-over tingling of blood being replaced far more quickly than normal. There was a strange flutter at the back of his mind, warmth and light and something not-quite-arcane. Pike’s work, then. “Strangely enough, I believe I’ve had worse.”

“No offense, darling, but you look like shit.” Vex pointed out, her voice strained with grief and shock but still sharp with humor.

His half-smile stretched into a full grin. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he said with forced flippancy. He raised a hand, pulling mana from the aether.

It was… harder than expected.

It was a simple cantrip, a trick he had done since childlhood. His mind focused on the bloody robes as he centered his magic on the element of _water,_ the idea of _clean_. The mana, which usually danced to his fingers like feathers on the wind, suddenly felt like dragging a boulder through mud. There was a flicker at his hand, but the magic he’d managed to gather was faint, formless. Keyleth gave a hushed, pained warning, but he ignored her, pushing the spell further, forcing it into existence. Too much, too soon. His mana was already well past exhausted from his ill-advised duel and the physical weakening of his body in the aftermath. The spell sputtered and died, and the pitiful remnants of exhausted mana rebounded _into_ him, making his lungs seize painfully.

Vax arms tightened around him, helping him through the coughing fit. “Give – give it _time_ ,” he said quietly. It was certainly meant to be his “I am the leader here” voice, and he grabbed Gilmore’s fingers as the spell died, resolutely barring a second attempt.

He was either unaware or uncaring of the desperate plea that laced his usual commanding tone.

Gilmore looked around the room, fully, for the first time. Pike, her brow still furrowed in concentration, hand clasping her amulet of devotion. The twins, at his side (His deathbed?), their concerned faces a mirror, even now. The underlying current of anguish, of _love_ , in Vax’s expression was… surely just a figment of Gilmore’s addled mind. Keyleth, her face tight, watchful eyes weary with sorrow and lingering guilt. _What on earth for?_ he wondered briefly.

Deeper into the room, the children he had risked so much for sat at his feet, _safe_ , watching him like wide-eyed and wearisome hawks. Their mother, the empress –former empress? Even so, Gilmore allowed the hysterical thought of _I saved an_ empress, _goodness me!_ to distract him briefly – fluttered anxious and uncertain next to Sherri, her formerly fine robes a tatter.

 _Sherri_. Her expression was no longer quite as unaffected as it usually was, and her eyes shone with relief at seeing him awake. In the wake of the world crashing down around him, it was a blessing to be here, surrounded by friends, by the people he had fought for and, against even his wildest expectations, the people he had _saved_. It was almost too good to be true.

“Well,” he said, only barely aware of speaking aloud, “Either we are all dead, or we are all alive.” Even as the thought (words?) formed, a flicker of uncertainty flooded him. There was a beat of silence, allowing the formless worry to coalesce into something more tangible. “I’d like an answer,” he said breathlessly, only half in jest.

“We’re alive,” Vex assured him.

“Oh good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He laughed weakly, allowed himself to sag against…

 _When_ had he ended up in Vax’s arms? He pushed aside the question and the shot of warmth that followed it through his veins.

“I was so worried about you all,” he confessed. A stirring of guilt as he remembered the evening, remembered leaving them _behind_ when he had grabbed the children, intent to save the little ones from the chaos and damn the consequences. “I went back for you,” he assured them, trying to push himself up out of Vax’s lap. Vax’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his sister’s expression turned stricken.

“ _What?_ ” Keyleth said, aghast. “We were so worried for _you.”_

“I’m sorry. My first instinct was to save the children. Uriel…” he trailed off, remembered now the clamoring chaos of the crowd, the looming shadow above them. His own hands, pulling a child away from the crowd where he had been in danger of being trampled, only to realize that he was manhandling the emperor’s own son. He had pushed forward then, reaching for another noblewoman, a collector of artifacts whom he had known well, clutching at her young daughter. Uriel’s intense, determined face. “He pushed me away. He was trying to get others out… out of the fray.”

“Did you see him fall?” Vex asked.

“I didn’t see him fall,” he admitted quietly. “But I went back… and found him fallen.” He tried very hard not to picture the crimson-splattered street, the still, twisted bodies of those killed by the poison fume, Uriel’s torn remains. The stomach-churning dread that, at any moment, he might find a familiar face from Vox Machina.

“His body?” Scanlan clarified, pulling him out of his reverie. The bard’s normally jovial countenance was darkened with grave concern.

“What was left of it,” he answered grimly. He recounted the rest of his tale, his own small part in the chaos. Bringing Salda and the children to safety, finding Asum and Tofur, returning to the Cloudtop. As he spoke, the holy magic faded, having done its work. But without the tingling warmth propping up his failing strength, blood loss, exhaustion, and the effects of the fever began to creep back into his awareness.

Salda took over the story, gently explaining Asum and Tofur’s decision to return to the city for survivors. Gilmore’s head started swimming, and he coughed weakly, tasting blood in his mouth. Was there still –? Ah, of course. Healing magic was notoriously tricky. Though magic could close wounds and heal bruises, there were few healers who could direct the magic to _replace_ any blood lost. Or, indeed, to do anything with the blood already shed. Thus, his still blood-soaked robes and the puddle of crimson slowly seeping into Vax’s trousers _and_ , most likely, the blood that had been filling his lungs while he was unconscious. _Lovely._

“We’re trying to collect people at our keep,” Percy was saying. Gilmore blinked away the dizziness, determined to stay focused on the conversation.

“We’ve turned it into kind of a safe haven,” Keyleth added.

“Good. Good, that’s… good of you. It’s probably the only safe place in the city right now.” Despite his intentions, the strain in his voice was evident, and he saw several of the party exchange worried glances. A hand rubbed his forearm comfortingly. He looked down, startled, and saw Vax’s gauntleted hand covering his, the fine, careful stitches that held the symbol of Sarenrae to his glove glimmering in the dim light. At some point, he had unconsciously leaned into Vax’s warm embrace and was now resting fully against the other man’s chest, Vax’s arms circling him. How absolutely _mortifying_ , he thought even as a pleasant heat rushed through him at Vax’s gentle caress.

“Do you have anything?” the rogue asked his sister in a low voice, unaware of Gilmore’s internal struggle.

“I could cast Cure Wounds,” Vex said uncertainly, looking to him. “I – would it help? I mean, you would know better than I would.”

Gilmore decided quite quickly that the _last_ thing his body needed was for more magic to be poured into it. He declined graciously, thanking Pike for her intervention.

“You certainly earned your name today,” Vax murmured in his ear, voice quiet with fondness and pride. Gilmore gulped, shook his head gently even as part of him swooned unhelpfully at the warm, intimate words.

“I could have saved more.” He thought back again to the sea of bodies still littering the cobblestone floor of the Cloudtop District. He was sure he’d never forget that image as long as he lived. “I couldn’t find you. I cou – I looked.” Vax’s grip on his shaking forearm tightened.

“We’re sorry, Gilmore,” Keyleth murmured.

“We called for you,” Vex added. “I’m so sorry we didn’t wait.”

“No, no. I’m glad you escaped,” he assured them. “I knew you would take care of yourselves. I…” _panicked and did something stupid_ , he thought to himself irritably, remembering now the somewhat irrational decision. “I went back to the dragon in case you… decided to be your usual foolish selves and run into… hell itself,” he said ruefully.

“Or sent someone as a spy to try and _trick him_ ,” Vex joked haltingly, her entirely-too-cheerful expression belying the joke as a genuine plan that had been blessedly discarded. “That would’ve been stupid, huh?”

“ _Yes_. Very.” Scanlan agreed tersely. Gilmore just sighed. Apparently his decision had not been so irrational. After all, he knew how his dear, idiotic friends tended to think.

“Did you see any other members of the council?” Vax asked. His warm breath tickled Gilmore’s ear, and abruptly Gilmore decided that he absolutely was _not_ having this conversation while laying against the rogue’s chest. He sat up, ignoring the dizzying way the room shifted and blurred and Vax’s steadying hands on his shoulders.

“Well,” he sighed, casting his mind back. “Quite a number of people are dead, unfortunately. Brom Goldhand didn’t make it.” Thrown himself in front of the dragon’s claws to protect Uriel, last he’d seen.

“Most of the guards are gone…” a thin, desperate line, spears out, holding off one of the dragons while people escaped behind them. The dragon’s mocking laugh, and then Gilmore had turned away, unable to watch.

“Half, if not more of the Cloudtop District died in the poisonous fumes from the initial attack.” Gilmore had nearly tripped over a figure in a black cloak, had stopped and gone back, Salda and the children shouting at him, to turn the unmoving body over. Throat tight with terror, but then seeing rounded ears, stubble, _not Vax._ He tried very hard not to feel guilty that he’d been so relieved to find a dead human lying before him. He pushed the thought away. There would be time for that later.

“We’ve been staying here for safety’s sake. I don’t know how long I’ve been out.” A _long time_ , if Sherri’s pinched and unhappy expression was any indication. “Could we – “ he shifted, and _gods_ everything was sore. “- perhaps, make our way to your keep as well?”

“That is probably wise,” Percy murmured.

“Is there any point in searching for more council members? More survivors?” Scanlan asked.

“Were there any survivors?” Vex asked quietly.

Gilmore’s lips thinned. “There were plenty of survivors when I went back; they were all _kneeling_ before the beast.” Stepping around and over their fallen neighbors to offer up their treasures and their dignity to the monster. It had been grotesque. “Very interesting,” he said bitterly, “how quickly people are willing to abandon their principles in the face of death. I don’t blame them.” Another harsh cough interrupted his thoughts, and this time the blood trickled out across his chin. He wiped it away with an already blood-soaked sleeve.

“The Cinderking,” Vex prompted. “Does he…. Does he have mind control abilities, or is he just _that impressive?_ ”

Cinderking. It was the first time Gilmore had heard the title, but there was no denying that it fit. “I think it was more that he was very convincing with his threats.” He shivered despite himself, remembering the booming shout that had echoed across the city. “I did get a good look at him. Before he…” he trailed off, gesturing loosely to his blood-soaked robes. Remembering with a catch in his throat how very close he had been to death.

If they hadn’t found him…

Vax’s hand was on his shoulder again, squeezing gently. “He has ripped the heart out of this city,” he said solemnly. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. Gilmore,” Scanlan said. “Did you notice anything important about the dragon? Anything unusual?”

It was unusually _large_ , he nearly blurted out, but shook his head, thinking carefully. Pictured it in his mind, looming over him, massive claws, wings spread triumphantly as it moved to crush him. Its chest, the pattern of scales interrupted by…. Something. he haltingly described the armor, but the fight had been over so quickly, it was hard to say what had drawn his eye to begin with.

There was a quiet but heated discussion of what to do next. Gilmore ignored it, resting briefly against the stone wall while Vax argued with his sister. Sherri knelt next to him, a cool hand pressing against his temple.

“You still have a fever,” she said grimly. “You’ll probably develop pneumonia in the next few days.” He nodded tiredly, suppressing another painful cough.

Sherri turned to the rest of the group. “Do any of you have any water? We didn’t have much when we were trapped down here.”

“We got better than that,” said the lumbering half-giant, pulling out a small vial. “And seriously, Gilmore, you better take it cause if we’re gonna be sneaking out of here, I’d rather you not burst open like a can of baked beans.”

The resulting glower of death on Sherri’s face made Gilmore grin. He chuckled, appreciating the heartfelt concern of his large friend, however crudely it might have been expressed. “Thank you, Grog,” he replied simply. Percy gave his own waterskin to the children, who took it excitedly. Grog handed the bottle to Sherri, who predictably turned it over to inspect the maker’s crest on the neck.

“Sherri,” he groaned. She ignored him.

“Ah, Bartholomew Gatesby!” she said, looking pleased. “Now that is a _fine_ brewer. A little generous with the wyrmwood at times, perhaps.”

“You need a better hobby,” he informed her through gritted teeth.

“Not getting swindled by amateurs is a perfectly _fine_ hobby.” She responded primly before uncorking the bottle and handing it to him. He took it without further complaint and let her help him to his feet. Vax rushed in out of nowhere to assist, pulling Gilmore’s arm across his shoulder. Gilmore smiled fondly at the half-elf.

“You remember the last time I told you guys something was a bad idea? It was maybe _three days ago._ ” Keyleth was saying, her brows furrowed irritably.

“I’ll only be gone a minute!” Vex protested.

“What exactly is it you’re planning to do?” Percy asked.

“I want that _fucking gold!_ Gold! Magical items!” her arms waved maniacally. Gilmore felt Vax freeze against his side. “Fucking _potions_ , I don’t know!”

“Vex – “ Vax began to protest.

“It… might actually be useful,” Percy admitted. Vax glowered between the two of them. “Look, Vax, we need all the help we can get at this point.”

“I’ll stay with Gilmore and the kids and make sure they get to the keep,” Grog offered, slapping Vax on the back.

“That’s not….” Vax trailed off, hand tightening around Gilmore.

“You don’t have to come _with me_ ,” Vex said irritably.

“I’m not _leaving you_ on your own.”

Still, Vax stood, face etched in indecision. Gilmore patted his arm quietly. “It’s all right, my friend,” he murmured in an undertone. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m…..” he hissed in frustration. “I don’t like this.” Finally, he transferred Gilmore’s arm to Keyleth, looking positively mutinous.

“Hello there,” Gilmore said, flashing a toothy smile at Keyleth and hoping to relieve some of the tension in the room. It didn’t help much, for Keyleth never took her eyes off Vax.

“One more thing before we go, Gilmore,” Scanlan said. “You’re not... you wouldn’t happen to be, like… a _dragon_? Right?"

The absolute absurdity of the question took a moment to register. He was too busy watching Keyleth watch Vax and _ah, so that’s who it is._ A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, making his ribs ache painfully. “Oh, I wish it were so. That would’ve made this whole thing… a little easier on my part.”

Grog led the way to the trapdoor. The twins followed, both looking unhappy with the other. “But,” he added, because he couldn’t help himself. The group turned to him, inquisitive. He gave them his best smile and winked at Scanlan. “If you find a way for me to become a dragon, that would be _sexy_ **.** ”

The group burst into undignified laughter. The worried lines in Vax’s face softened just for a moment, turning into a wide grin. Gilmore grinned back fiercely, and that was enough.

Grog, Pike, Keyleth, and Percival led them through shadowed alleys, treading carefully. Gilmore very studiously did not look back as the twins disappeared behind them.

“We’ll catch up later,” Scanlan promised, then followed their new friend Garthok.

As they made their way through the ruined city, Gilmore happened to glance at his long-suffering assistant, still propping him up and half-carrying him through the street, scolding Grog each time the barbarian made a little too much noise. He recalled the night before, half-remembered snatches of wakefulness, Sherri’s hand resting on his forehead. The magnitude of what he owed her, of all she had done this day, left him momentarily speechless.

He cleared his throat, determined to try. “Assuming society doesn’t crumble around us in the next few weeks,” he said, his lips lifting up in a small, genuine smile, “I’m definitely giving you a raise.”

Sherri let out an exasperated huff, the tiniest curl of a smile at her lips. “Don’t forget hazard pay. I expect my next paycheck to be _impressive._ ”

It’s hard to say whose composure cracked first, but before long they were giggling like children together. Keyleth grinned from his other shoulder and Percy looked back, uncertain but smiling.

The lighthearted moment was interrupted with a rough voice calling out “Oy! Drop your stuff!” An ill-prepared band of looters with makeshift armor stood at the head of the street, looking grim.

Keyleth rushed forward, surprising everyone by foregoing magic entirely and socking the man straight in the mouth. Gilmore glanced at Sherri, eyebrow raised. “Don’t strain yourself,” was all she said as she reached into her robes. Sherri pulled out her wand as Gilmore stepped away, desperately concentrating the last of his mana on making a very impressive bluff. This time, the magic obeyed him, if only barely. Sparks of arcane energy danced from his fingers, arcing above and around him as he stared the group down.

“Do you gentlemen seriously wish to start this ruckus?” he asked mildly, smirking at the nearest fellow. The small band faltered at this sudden display, obviously not expecting to run into magic users. They turned and fled back up the street. Gilmore held the magic a moment longer, relishing the arcane spark of heat against his skin.

Eventually, though, the magic faded, and with it the last of his exhausted strength. He toppled forward, into Percival’s waiting arms.

“That’s it,” he gasped, pained but exuberant. “That’s the last of me, that’s all I’ve got.” He looked up, still grinning wildly. “Take me home.”

“We’re almost there,” Keyleth assured him, sharing in his mischievous triumph.

“Good one, Gilmore!” Grog cackled, clapping him painfully on the back. Gilmore reached up to pinch his cheek, making the giant blush.

“I distinctly remember telling you not to _strain yourself_ ,” Sherri clucked disapprovingly as she tucked her wand back into her robe. Gilmore shrugged unapologetically and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and together they followed Vox Machina to safety.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, the conversation isn't word for word, and I moved things around to try and make it flow better for story purposes.
> 
> Gilmore survives!
> 
> (ETA: Finally fixed the weird spacing issue because it was bothering me.)


	3. News from Outside

“Really, milady, how can I be expected to work under these conditions?” the ornery voice of Realm Keeper Rynderion rang through the chamber, the man himself red-faced with frustration. Cassandra De Rolo, youngest surviving member of the de Rolo line (and oh, how unexpectedly wonderful it felt to be a _youngest_ again, and not an _only),_ resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands.

Archie – no, no, _Archibald_ , she was not a child any longer and formality was important when one was ruler of a city – straightened in his seat and held a placating hand out to the incensed wizard. (Honestly, what corner of Taldorei had Percival even _found_ this strange man?) “Master Rynderion,” Archibald began, “I do apologize for the lack of, ah, informational resources within our city. As Vox Machina no doubt informed you when they first contacted you, our city was overrun with vampires for quite a number of years, and we are still recovering.”

“Yes, yes!” Rynderion responded impatiently, waving the explanation away. “I am well aware of the situation. In any case, I shall study the anomaly as best I can. That said, it will be much slower now since Allura and that dwarf zapped off without a word. I shall keep you informed.” Thus saying Rynderion left again with a small absent-minded bow.

“Any aid you are able to render,” Cassandra thanked him coolly as he dismissed himself, still muttering under his breath. Of course, the strange man had raised a question, one that had been plaguing Cassandra for days. Where had Allura gone? The woman had left with little warning, only explained white-faced that something had happened in Emon and she had to check on things. Whatever the disturbance, was her brother involved? Were they all right? Cassandra’s hand dropped to her side, where the gatestone was safely nestled in the folds of her dress. The gatestone lay dormant, only the faintest magical hum giving away its enchanted nature. A gauntleted hand clapped her shoulder.

She looked up; it was Keeper Yennen. His eyes rested briefly on the stone, then flicked back up to meet hers. “If it’s bad, they’ll send word,” he said simply. “I’m sure Lord Percival is fine.”

She smiled weakly. “Of course you’re right, Keeper. Now then, I believe we have a land dispute to settle.” With that, she pushed the questions away for another time.

The Briarwoods had gifted their henchmen with lordhood and property, but they had also redistributed large areas of farmland around the city. As soon as the council had come to power, there had been a clamoring to restore the traditional land boundaries. This, of course, came with over a dozen age-old disputes given new light, and sorting out a compromise for each had been slow and frustrating.

“That poplar is a menace!”

“ _That poplar_ has been in my family for seven generations!”

 _Do not put your head in your hands,_ she reminded herself, breathing deeply.

“According to our records, the border between your lands shall be figured at a distance of four feet from the trunk of the poplar in question. Is that correct?” Archibald asked. He excelled at not sounding bored or frustrated with whatever proceedings they were discussing.

“Yes, yes, and that’s all very well, but the roots are all under my land! I cannot possibly till my soil with all the damn roots – your pardon, milady – all your roots creeping across – “

“My father has told you people before, _do not plant next to our – “_

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she said firmly, and both farmers straightened, looking to her expectantly. How very _odd_ it was sometimes – barely a month ago, Cassandra had been cowed and hopeless, held prisoner in her own home by a couple who at times treated her like a daughter, and at other times, like a slave. Now, though, she spoke and her people _listened_. It could still catch her off-guard. “If the root system has truly come to inhibit your land use, sir, would you be amenable to moving the border further away from the tree?”

The man blinked up at her, mildly outraged. “What, and give _him_ more land?”

Cassandra sighed, looking down again at the map in front of her. She traced her finger along the border, then drew a line further north. “The farm to the north of you,” she began.

“Aye, ole Willy’s farm. What of it?”

“Actually, that is a large part of why we called you here today. I’m afraid I have news regarding your friend. I’m sorry to tell you, the whole family was killed by the Briarwoods. We’ve been searching for a surviving member and could find no one.”

The farmers’ shoulders sagged in unison. Cassandra suppressed a sigh. The situation was unhappily familiar. Nevertheless… “Until there is a family willing to buy the property and take over the farm again, the land is not in use. If you would be willing, any land you lose by moving this border,” she pointed again to the poplar marked on the map, “we can grant you back at your northern border.”

The farmer placed a reverent hand on the northern farm. “Willie was always proud of his potato patch,” he said with a weak smile. “I… yes. I accept.”

Cassandra breathed a small sigh of relief. Yennen gently ushered the men out of the room, promising to refine the details at a later time. Archie turned, giving her a small smile as they left. “That was very well done, Cassandra,” he said warmly.

“Thank you, Archie,” she said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you and the Keeper.”

“You’re learning quickly. I’ve no doubt you would have figured it out on your own.”

She laughed lightly. “I prefer having your guidance, if it’s all the same to you.”

“And I am happy to give it,” he responded with a kind smile.

“Milady,” a guard came forward hesitantly, looking nervous. “Lady Cassandra, there is… there has been a disturbance at the Sun Tree.”

“Disturbance?” she repeated, frowning. “What sort of disturbance?”

“I, ah… I’m not sure, Milady, but… people are pouring out of it.”

Cassandra stood excitedly, eyes wide. “Is my brother among them?” she asked.

“I – I didn’t see – “ Cassandra swept past him, rushing to the castle entrance with as much propriety and decorum as she could bring herself muster.

Percival was in the entrance hall, heading a few dozen people. His expression brightened when he saw her, though his shoulders seemed heavy with some invisible load. Nevertheless, she swept over to the group and embraced him, smiling widely. “Percival, you’re returned!”

“Cassandra,” he greeted her, uncomfortably shrugging away from the hug. Some things never changed, and her brother’s dislike of _hugs_ seemed to be one of them. “I’m afraid things aren’t going well,” he said, his face grim. Her eyes drifted questioningly to the group behind him. Now that she was studying them, none of the faces of his companions seemed to be present. The people in this group were dirtied, some with torn clothing or bandages. Parents clutched at their children tightly, and they all held the familiar air of loss.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed, looked back at Percival, and yes, he looked shaken as well. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“What have you heard of – of events in Emon?”

“I’ve heard nothing. We’ve been rather focused on our own city’s recovery.”

He sighed, looking away. “There’s been an attack. Chromatic dragons took the city. They’ve been… sweeping across the country. We don’t know how many towns they’ve destroyed.” He spoke slowly, haltingly, as though trying to find a way to break the news to her carefully. Finally he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “There’s no simple way to put it. Our civilization is under siege. We were afraid Whitestone had been hit as well, but you seem…” he trailed off, reaching out to grasp his sister’s hand. “It seems Whitestone has been overlooked, for now.”

 _For now._ Cassandra gaped at her brother, holding his hand tightly. It all seemed too much to be real.

“We were hoping,” he pushed on, still struggling to put words to their desperate plight, “we could move some of the survivors of Emon here to Whitestone for the time being. There won’t be many, less than a hundred I’m sure.”

His words were supposed to be comforting, an assurance that the refugees wouldn’t be a large disturbance to her city, but Cassandra felt a cold rush of horror at the number. How large was Emon? It had been the capital, a major port city with thousands of residents. And her brother had less than a hundred refugees for her to house? “Of course they can stay here,” she assured him. “For better or for worse, there are a number of vacant buildings in the city right now, thanks to recent events.” She gestured to the nearby guards, ordered them to lead the refugees and find housing. The group trailed away, leaving Percy and Cassandra alone.

“Recent events,” Percy repeated slowly. “Anything I should know about or – “

“The rebellion,” she answered shortly. “We lost many in the battle against the Briarwoods.”

“Right. Erm. I think it would be wise to… There should be a plan in place, in case the dragons come here.”

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “Worst comes to worst, we have a very large chamber underneath the castle now,” she said darkly. “One that would cancel any magical attack we might face.”

“And, of course, any research – I’m sorry, I know your resources are stretched thin, but any energy that can be put toward researching a way to kill these beasts…”

“Most of our researchers are still studying the orb. Oh! That reminds me.” She turned the topic to the researchers, to the strange old man who had burst into her audience chamber complaining about the magic orb earlier today. As they spoke, Cassandra studied her brother.

He was frazzled and shaken by the dragon attack, that much was clear. As genuinely pleased as he was to see her, his focused was clearly a thousand miles away, still thinking, planning, already a dozen steps ahead of everyone else. In true Percival fashion, he had thrown himself into the work – the questions of logistics, of concrete problems with practiceable solutions – in lieu of dealing with the distress and terror of the attack itself. She remembered the pattern from their childhood, but couldn’t think what her mother had done when he’d shut himself in his workshop for days at a time. Most often, she had had the dismissive and uncharitable impression that Percy was bothered by some boring, silly problem he’d made up in his head and gone back to chasing Ludwig through the gardens.

Without a definitive plan to help, Cassandra decided to give Percy what he needed: a solid problem to address. She led him down to the master arcanist’s study. He stepped hesitantly into the dimly lit room, which had only grown more pungent as the arcanist settled in. That done, she sent a guard with a message to Yennen and Archibald. There were many preparations to make. They certainly hadn't expected Whitestone's population to grow quite so quickly, and restoration of the empty residential districts had not been a high priority. Now, of course, that would have to change.

After several minutes, Percy left the Realm Seeker’s study with an odd expression on his face. “Was he helpful?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes. Well, no,” Percy answered distractedly. “I mean to say… he _wasn’t_ helpful, but it was helpful in the _way_ he wasn’t helpful.” He scowled at his own sentence.

“He’s a strange one,” she said slowly, still studying her brother’s expression.

“Yes,” Percy hummed. He looked up and seemed to fully see her for the first time. “It’s going to be all right,” he said seriously, smiling reassuringly at her. And yes, _there_ was her Percy again, the gentle big brother who took her hand when she was afraid of the thunderstorms. Before tragedy and betrayal had made them strangers – both to themselves, and to each other. She smiled hesitantly back, reflecting how strange it was to feel so _young_ again.

But they weren’t young, she thought as the warmth faded. Not anymore. Not for a long time. And they weren’t facing a harmless bit of thunder, but the end of the world. “Percy,” she said gravely before he could turn to leave. “Is there a worry that the dragons may come here?”

Percy’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” he replied simply. She was grateful for the honesty, but the magnitude of the situation hit her all over again.

“What are we to do?”

Percy was silent for a long time, and this was her brother too: her obnoxious know-it-all who wouldn’t – or perhaps couldn’t – admit that he didn’t have any answers. “I have a plan,” he said at last. “Or at least, the start of one. For now… if you see it coming, you hide.”

She nodded wordlessly, her throat tight. He took her hand again. “I have to go back,” he said gently. With a small sniffle, she pulled the crystal from its pocket. “I will return, I promise.”

“I know,” she said simply.

“And Cassandra… I’m proud of you. You’re doing very well here.” He smiled fondly, and abruptly she couldn’t look at him. For this was not her brother, but the kind, proud smile of their father.

“We have a long way to go,” she said, her face beet-red and her eyes burning.

“We’ll get there,” he assured her warmly. With one last bashful grin, he turned his eyes to the crystal. The low hum that had served as a comfort before now grew louder, more intense. Percival’s form slowly faded and with a final _crack_ , he was gone.

On her own in the long hallway at the edge of the castle, with no gently admonishing Archie to remind her of her station and need for propriety, Cassandra de Rolo buried her head in her hands and wept for the people of Emon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shift in perspective here. So, the plan with this fic is to POVs and conjecture what the NPCs are doing while Vox Machina is off searching for objects.
> 
> Also, Government is stressful, ya’ll. I’m getting stressed just writing about it.  
> Also also, disclamer: I watch a lot of West Wing and I have a job in the federal government, and that is literally the ONLY authority I have in writing political/governing stuff. If my solutions to problems seem simplistic or unrealistic, welllllll GOVERNING IS HARD, OKAY?


	4. Recovery

Until the dragon attack, Gilmore could’ve said with a reasonable amount of confidence that he was immune to his coworker’s disapproving scowl. He wasn’t sure why the expression was giving him pause now. Perhaps it was more effective when coupled with the gently furrowed brow of a worried Pike.

“Absolutely not,” Sherri was saying, arms crossed.

“I have already told you – “

“Do you recall nearly _dying_ less than twenty-four hours ago?” she interrupted sharply.

“I do, and since then I have been subjected to three potions, four healing spells, and no less than twelve hours of forced bedrest. I am going for a _walk_.”

“I don’t know, Gilmore,” Pike said hesitantly, biting her lip in thought. “Your cough sounds pretty bad.”

“You still have a fever – ”

“ _Barely – “_

“And you _know_ the effects of mana exhaustion, Gilmore. You need to be _sleeping_.”

“I’m not planning to run laps around the keep!”

“That’s – “

The argument was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Vax, because _of course it was._ His perceptive gaze swept across the room, no doubt sensing the tension. His eyes lighted subtly on Pike, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Vax,” he said a little desperately, gentle grin on his face. “Please tell these lovely healers that I won’t keel over dead the minute I stand on my own.”

“Well, I certainly hope that’s not the case,” Vax said with a faint smile. “I’ve come to tell you all that we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Pike repeated inquisitively. “To Whitestone?”

“I don’t suppose it could _wait_ a few days,” Sherri clucked disapprovingly.

“I am perfectly _fine_ to travel!” Gilmore protested for the dozenth time, pulling himself upright. Every muscle sang with pain and he winced reflexively. Sherri somehow managed to say nothing _very loudly_ at him. It was _impressive_ , he thought begrudgingly.

“If you say so,” Vax said uncertainly. He hovered awkwardly on the verge of saying something further. Gilmore brushed past the gaping chasm that had once held their obnoxious (he’d been told) flirting.

He gave the half-elf a wan smile. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get the poor civilians out of your hair so you can get back to saving the world,” he said jokingly.

The smile Vax gave him was half-hearted, strained. “Ah, you can’t get rid of us that easily. We’re coming with you,” he responded, but even that joke lacked the usual sparkle of mischief.

“We’re leaving, too?” Pike asked, looking alarmed. “But what about Erwin and Lana? What of the guards? What if Thordak comes?”

Vax’s expression dropped. “We’re getting everybody out of the keep,” he said, sighing at Pike’s dismayed murmur. “Pike, you know we can’t stay here. The dragons know about this place, and they’ll come calling before too long.” With a deep breath and a short, discerning nod, Pike looked away, studiously checking Gilmore’s remaining bandages with more care than was strictly necessary.

Gilmore took her wrist, squeezing it comfortingly. “I’m sorry. Both of you. I know how much this place means to you.” Pike gave him a strained smile, thanked him quietly through a thinly concealed veil of tears.

Vax left the room.

Somehow, Gilmore couldn’t bring himself to be surprised.

“I guess I’d better pack my things,” Pike said with a quiet sniffle, excusing herself and leaving Gilmore and Sherri alone.

Sherri squeezed his shoulder. “Gilmore…” she started uncertainly.

“I’m sure Lana could use help downstairs,” he interrupted, patting her hand. With a sigh, Sherri nodded and left. Gilmore relaxed backward into his pillow with a small pained groan, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

They may not admit it, and there were few who could spot the signs, but Vox Machina was running scared. In light of the rampant destruction, the loss of the simple security of home, they were each reverting to their particular coping mechanisms. Vax was hiding or clinging to his sister or both; Vex, the few times Gilmore had seen her, had grown obsessed with the party’s funds, fretting with pursed lips over every possible expense, real or imagined. Grog had grown even more bloodthirsty than usual, aching for a fight, while Pike had thrown herself into prayers and devotion to Sarenrae, had even called down some sort of angel for aid in rebuilding their keep as a safe haven for survivors.

For the everyday survivor of Emon, this may have been a disheartening or even devastating realization; after all, this motley group was likely the best chance they had to defeat the dragons and restore all of Taldorei. But Gilmore had known these reckless idiots before they had become council members, before they had been honored as a shining example of heroism in front of the city at Winter’s Crest. The members of Vox Machina were – forgive the term – _human_ , in Gilmore’s eyes, with flaws and goals and struggles. But how to help them?

Gilmore was afraid that if he didn’t figure it out quickly, someone was going to end up dead.

His black thoughts were interrupted by a faint whisper of sound at the doorway. He smiled. “You can come in, you know,” he said. Abruptly, there was no noise at all; then, Vax appeared in the doorframe, frowning.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t.” Actually, he had assumed it was little Gren come to keep him company. Vax drifted closer, uncertain of himself in a way that Gilmore rarely saw.

“I should apologize.” The rogue scowled, shook his head. “I mean, I should thank you,” he amended. “Both, possibly.”

Gilmore smiled up at him, taking in the stiff shoulders, the nervously flexing hands that almost seemed to itch for a blade. He hummed, intentionally casual, running a thumb and finger through his beard. “I would gladly accept your apology and your thanks, of course. Although, I would like to know what they’re for. For future reference, you see.”

Vax struggled with himself for a moment, then finally said, “You’ve… I know this hasn’t been easy for you – Well. It hasn’t been easy for _anyone_ – You’ve lost your shop, your livelihood. And you’re right, it’s not easy for us to leave this place… I shouldn’t have left so abruptly, I know you were trying to…” Vax fidgeted, and there was that furrow in his brow that Gilmore hated, the one that made him want to do foolish things to make it disappear.

“Vax,” he said with a gentle smile. “Sit down, please.”

Vax let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. It only now occurred to him that the half-elf had not yet met his eyes. He was still looking just slightly down or away when he collapsed into the chair with another defeated sigh. Finally, he admitted in a quiet, painful voice: “I’m… I don’t know how to avoid hurting you.”

Oh dear. Now, it was Gilmore’s turn to look away, swallowing hard. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this particular conversation, but there they were. “What do you mean?”

Vax thought a moment, struggling to form the words. “Gil… I can’t lose you.” Their eyes met for the first time, and Gilmore was left breathless by the lost, pained set of his eyes, the thrill of those words in his veins, the gnarled mess of emotion in his voice. “When we found you, lying there bloody I couldn’t… I couldn’t…” his eyes screwed closed, sucked in a sharp breath. “And that’s not fair, not to either of you.”

“Me nor Keyleth.” It wasn’t what he had meant to say at all, but the words flowed from him before he could rein them in. Vax looked up, surprised. “Well, it _is_ Keyleth, isn’t it? That you told me about.”

“I love her, Gil,” Vax said miserably. “More than I can say. But…”

That tantalizing _but._ Vax’s boundless capacity for affection, the seemingly neverending space of his heart into which he poured every cause, every friend, every troubled urchin who reminded him of himself – it was the rogue’s greatest quality, that shining spark that had attracted Gilmore in the first place. Oh, how it warmed him to know that he was held within that cherished vessel. But that compassion came with its pitfalls.

“Ah, Vax,” he breathed.

“I don’t know what to do,” the rogue confessed, looking torn.

“That’s the trouble with that silly old heart of yours.” He placed a hand over said heart, felt it beat beneath his fingers. It was enough to startle Vax into looking up at him. “Room enough in here for everyone.” His smile turned melancholy. “Be careful with that, my dear friend. It’ll land you in trouble before long.”

“I think it already has,” he said with a weak smile that faded quickly. “Gilmore, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed quietly.

“I think you’ll find that _none_ of us know what we’re doing,” he replied. With a regretful sigh, he pulled his hand away. Let it never be said that Shaun Gilmore opted for the easier path through life. “I can’t very well fault you for that, can I?”

Vax stared at him for a long moment, looking surprised. “You’re a good man, Gilmore,” he said at last. “Probably better than I deserve.”

“Probably,” Gilmore agreed with a teasing wink. He sat up again, accepting Vax’s aid gratefully as he made his way to his feet. “Now, unless I’m quite mistaken, we have plans for Whitestone.”

 

* * *

 

 

The frigid air of Whitestone seized his lungs and threw him into a coughing fit the moment they stepped through the portal. He waved away Sherri’s concerned glance, stepping quickly to the side to allow more people through. The central tree was _enormous_ and bare, old frayed bits of rope fluttering faintly in the morning breeze. The town was relatively quiet, though a small gathering had formed, the first group of refugees awaiting their arrival. Gren excitedly dashed forward to reunite with a young lad he had spoken to in Greyskull. Percy stepped forward as well, clasping hands warmly with a young woman, who immediately rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug. Percy grimaced unhappily at the contact, but patted her shoulders with resigned acceptance.

As the refugees of Emon reunited, Gilmore focused on keeping his breathing even. Pain stabbed through his lungs with every breath, and exhaustion pulled at his very bones. He wavered on his feet just a moment, and felt Pike reach up to steady him, sharp eyes zeroing in on him.

He waved them off gently, forcing himself to stand a little straighter. The young woman who had hugged Percy turned to look at them, and he favored her with a charming grin.

“Gilmore,” Percy’s voice was quiet, but it held a note of shy pleasure when he said, “this is my sister, Cassandra De Rolo. She manages the daily affairs of the city of Whitestone.”

“Tries to,” Cassandra amended demurely, taking his hand.

“Cassandra, this is our dear friend, Shaun Gilmore.”

“They speak of you often,” Cassandra said with a grin. “I’m told that your shop is the stuff of legends.” She held herself with the same careful distance that Percy did. _Honestly_ , nobility’s obsession with raising their children to be _proper_.

“Was, unfortunately,” he corrected, letting out a dramatic, gusty sigh. “Cut down in its prime by a royally pissed off dragon. You’d think I’d done something to upset it.” He could _feel_ Sherri’s disapproval at his back. His mischievous grin stretched wider.

Cassandra giggled, then seemed to catch herself. Her expression assumed a more polite veneer. “I am sorry for the loss of Emon,” she said seriously. “You’re all welcome here in Whitestone.”

“You’re very kind, milady,” Sherri said.

“You’ll both have a room in the castle,” Percy told Gilmore. “And Empress Salda as well.”

“Empress Salda?” Cassandra repeated, eyes widening.

“Oh, yes. Unfortunately, Emperor Uriel is dead, but his wife and children escaped. They can stay in our parents’ quarters. Unless you’re already using them, of course.” Percy said distractedly. He didn’t seem to notice his sister’s quietly panicked expression.

“You didn’t mention the _empress_ would be – that is to say I’m glad she escaped, though I didn’t think – “

“Don’t worry dear, they don’t bite,” Gilmore reassured her. He pretended to reconsider a moment. “Well, Gren might a little.” He glanced at the boy and was surprised to find that Gren and his friend were already staring directly at him, an odd expression on their faces. When they saw him look over, they started guiltily and scurried off into the crowd.

Before Gilmore had the chance to feel worried, Sherri cut into the conversation loudly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sure, but a number of our group are injured, and I think it best if we got everyone settled in.”

“Oh! Of course you’re right,” Cassandra said, though she still looked a little wrong-footed. “We have a number of homes cleared and ready. Percy, perhaps you and your friends could help?” Percy nodded graciously, and the small group of survivors broke away to settle into a new home.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra walked with the empress, her back ramrod straight, her eyes still wider than normal. Salda, for her part, seemed to be doing her best to put Cassandra at ease. The talk all the way to the castle was pleasant, and by the time they were passing through the enormous oak doors, Cassandra seemed more at ease in the empress’s presence.

The small bubble of peace shattered a moment later when they heard shouting from a distant room. Cassandra’s expression turned stern. “If you’ll excuse me, there is business I must attend to,” she flicked an annoyed glance at the door. “My guards can show you to your rooms.” A dull thump, like a fist hitting a table.

“We can speak later,” Salda said understandingly. Cassandra nodded gratefully, then strode from the room, her expression determined.

“Don’t mind the ruckus, lords and ladies,” a guard said upon seeing their perturbed expressions. “Probably just Gregor, stirring up a fuss about the stipend again.”

“Stipend?” Gilmore asked, brow furrowed.

“Aye. Lady Cassandra pulled from the royal treasury and gave all the farmers a stipend. You know, clean up the farms, replace anythin’ broken, buy up seeds for planting season. Did the farming community a lot of good, to be frank. Then, o’ course, the old merchants’ guild raised a fuss, askin’ why _they_ didn’t get a stipend. Most folk are just glad to focus on rebuilding, but there are a few gettin’ more vocal recently.”

“This Gregor person, I presume?”

“Aye.”

At that moment, the door Cassandra had disappeared into burst open and a tall, lanky man stepped through. The sharp, defined angles of his face were accentuated by a pointed goatee. His hair was short and black. His doublet was simple, but well-crafted and meticulously cared for, and Gilmore was suddenly reminded of his own borrowed, rumpled robes. He nodded politely to the man, but Gregor did not acknowledge them, merely brushed past, face red with frustration.

“Interesting,” Gilmore mused aloud, watching the man leave.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sherri said drily. “Not until you’ve rested.”

Gilmore eyed at the long flight of stairs the guard was ushering them toward. “I don’t think I’ll argue with you on that front,” he said, his lungs already twinging just looking at them.

Sherri followed his gaze, looking thoughtful. Finally, she sighed. “Best not,” she mumbled to herself before turning to the guard. “Perhaps my companion and I could have a moment? He’s not quite to his full strength, and the journey here has been rather tiring.” The guard nodded, calling a servant over. Salda bade them a good rest before following the guard upstairs. The servant nodded to them both, leading them along a short side hallway to a sitting room.

“Bless you,” he sighed as he slid painfully into a generously cushioned, though slightly dusty, armchair.

“Magic doesn’t erase everything, you know,” was her frank reply. “You’ll still be sore, and your lungs haven’t cleared up yet.”

“Goodness, I _thought_ something might be off,” he said sarcastically.

“It’s _all right_ to take a little time to heal.” She insisted, frowning at him. “No one expects you to be running about immediately. In fact, with the scare you’ve given everyone, I think we’d be grateful if you would take it _easy_ for a few days.”

“Take a few days?” he repeated incredulously. “With Emon in ruins and dragons sweeping across the land unchecked?”

Sherri dropped into the chair across from him, hissing in frustration as she leaned closer. “Your idiot friends can worry about the damned dragons. Gilmore, you almost _died._ ” Gilmore dropped his eyes to the floor. “And since you’re not dying anymore, it seems appropriate to ask _what the hell were you thinking_ , taking on an ancient dragon? _By yourself?”_

Gilmore let out a shaky sigh. “To be fair, I hadn’t _planned_ on running into him.” He stared intently at the patterned floor, trying hard not to think about that courtyard, the worshippers tripping over dead bodies or kicking them aside, the massive preening form of the dragon itself. Darting shadow to shadow, trying to identify corpses, dreading who he might find. His merchant friend and her daughter were there, side by side, bodies twisted.

He startled badly when Sherri took his hand. She saw it, of course, could always see his tells, and her eyes flicked from his shaking hands, to his wheezing chest, to his eyes, still wide and startled. Her expression was devoid of pity or judgment, but she _saw_. They stayed trapped in that moment for a breathless second. Gilmore was frozen, didn’t know how to acknowledge her understanding, couldn’t brush her away, not this time, not when she had seen straight through to his terror.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle. “No one expects you to be fine right now.”

The terrible storm of emotions finally broke inside him. She pulled him into a hug. He leaned gratefully into her shoulder and let the tears flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, this took FOREVER to write. So many important conversations to get right. x.x
> 
> Also, GILMORE ANGST. ALL OF IT. ENJOY.


End file.
